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Sunshine and ^oses 
IFor you 

MlttY r^ur bay^s be 1\)q, sunshine of 

5f ring time anb yout^, 
Ol)rous^ l^e ^leiis. In l^e wolb* 

by l^e lakes anb t^e scores: 
5tta? roses of happiness blossom* 

anb Irul^ 
TXnb love f>etals cloy* Is t^ ^eart 

wls^ of yours. 



-O^ 





My Baby" Page 24 




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DEDICATED 



Lovers of Sunshine, Spring, Flowers, 
Birds, Squirrels, Field, Woodland, 
Stream, Nature, Books, Art, Youth, 
Beauty, Love, Hope, Faith, Memory, 
Age, Life, Lovers, Children, Man, God 



CONTENTS. 

PACE 

A FANCY 57 

A FLOWER 44 

A LAY OF HOME 60 

A MAIDEN'S VOW 46 

AN ARTIFICIAL ROSE 50 

A REMINISCENCE 89 

A SONG— TODAY 35 

AT DUSK 30 

AT REST 56 

AZMARINE 26 

COMMON FOLKS 99 

DEAD 93 

DESERTED 79 

DRIFTING 76 

HER BECKONING HAND 45 

HER SINGING VOICE 82 

IF I COULD SIT BY YOU 63 

I LOVE YOU 25 

JOSEPHA 54 

LITTLE SWEETHEART BESS 29 

LOVE'S VICTORY 81 

MAPLE STIRRING TIME 84 

MARY 51 

MEDIAEVAL SERENADE 73 

MY BABY 24 

MY BRIDE 15 



CONTENTS. 

PACE 

MY MAID OF JUNE 62 

MY MOON GODDESS 53 

ONLY AN ANTIQUATED BEAU 36 

ON THE LITTLE BLUE 40 

PROEM II 

RESIGNATION 48 

SHE SOUGHT HER LORD 88 

SOUL-MATED 61 

SUMMER HERE 20 

SWOONED 28 

THE AGED VETERAN 97 

THE BOOKS WE READ 70 

THE BROKEN RANKS 58 

THE DREAM OF AGE 41 

THE FRONTIER GRAVE 68 

THE HEAVEN GUILD 91 

THE MAN THAT JUST DON'T CARE 102 

THE PARTING 32 

THE REAPERS 64 

THE STOLEN KISS 74 

THE STORM PAST 39 

THE YOUNG IMITATOR 71 

TO HAVE, TO LOSE 18 

WAITING n 

WHEN EVEN COMES 94 

WHICH, LOVE? 67 





PROEM. 

Song, song, only song. 
Song that cheers the world along; 
Simple, light, a word of rhyme, 
Blithe as is the gay springtime. 

Song, song, just a line. 
Lithesome as the bright sunshine; 
Fragrance of the springtide rose 
And its tint — just as it grows. 

Song, song, light, care-free 
As the squirrel in the tree, 
Carol of the singing bird, — 
Denizen of field and wood. 



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Song, song, and a smile, — 
Help a listless hour beguile, 
Though mayhap a wayward tear 
Smile in memory of a bier. 

Song, song, — oh, the grave. 
Serious lessons let us save 
For a gloomier day than this 
Rainbozv-tinted day of bliss! 

Song, S07ig, — ah, with me 

Sing a song full joyfully! 

Where the sun shines brightest, grows. 

Thriving most, the fragrant rose. 



12 




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SUNSHINE AND ROSES 




O cycling eras, turn the page, 
Search through the realm of by-gone age, 
Fathom the depths of soundless deep. 
Seek among those in Time's long sleep, 
Those, who are living in all climes, 
Those of the meted poets' rhymes, 
Find me the image I shall name, 
Her I will worship into fame, 
Make her to be 
My bride. 

Let her have hair of rippling brown. 
Rich as an empress' regal crown; 
Eyes of the ocean's sunset shoal. 
Clear to reflect the inmost soul; 
Lips as the ripest cherry red. 
Sweet as the topmost overhead; 
Cheeks as the rosebud scarcely burst. 
Deepened to crimson when thou durst 
Touch them with lips, 
Profane; 




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Brow nobly arched, and dimpled chin, 
Neck as the swan's; and pearly skin 
Covering a pair of shoulders and breast 
Fit for a pillow of gods caressed; 
Arms and limbs and figure, mien, 
Grace all unknown to goddess queen; 
Yet with a silent dignity, 
Borne in child-like simplicity. 
Conscious of innate 
Power. 

Give her an intellect and brain 
Worthy to lead in genius' train 
Whether in industry, the arts. 
Statesmanship, commercial marts, 
Yet with a heart to guide her steps 
Into a woman's deeper depths. 
Into the altruistic love. 
Leading the souls of men Above 
By her unconscious 
Smile. 



16 



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Give her all this and give her more. 
Give her a soul with constant store 
Of the more selfish love that lives, 
Growing the more, the more it gives 
Of its ne'er failing strength to one — 
Father perpetuate in son — 
Give her this selfish love and let — 
Oh, above all do not forget! — 
To let that one 
Be me. 

Is it too hard, the thing I ask? 
Is it too difficult a task? 
Bring then a regal diadem, 
Deck it with jewel of purest gem. 
Come to my humble thatch and see 
Rarest of pearls about my knee, 
While to my cheek a goddess queen 
Presses her lips with grace, serene. 
Crown, you, the quested 
Bride. 




17 



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TO HAVE, TO LOSE. 



Beautiful, flaxen-haired dolly — too bad! 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Spoiled are the beautiful features she had, 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Yours was the foot that rocked her to sleep, 
Yours was the heart she lightly made leap. 
Your hand prepared her to join the scrap-heap, 

Don't cry, my dearie! 

Elegant frocks that were joyously worn. 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Now are they soiled, bedraggled and torn. 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Many the happy hours dressed in these clothes, 
Gayly you donned them to parade with your 

beaux — 
Wear out yet keep them, you can't, heaven 
knows ! — 

Don't cry, my dearie! 



18 



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Beauteous features and eloquent grace, 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Once told a story not in the worn face. 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Happily bore you the pleasures of youth. 
Life, love and joyance, health, beauty, for- 
sooth, — 
Life's pleasures spent — lie on sorrow and ruth! 

Don't cry, my dearie! 

Hard is the pillow you've made for your bed. 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Now you have made it, it's lay down your head, 

Don't cry, my dearie! 
Joyous you sip at the nectar and wine, 
Froth you flick light as you merrily dine, — 
Quaff down the dregs! Too late to repine! 

Don't cry, my dearie! 



19 



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SUMMER HERE. 

Summer here! O what a joy! 
Life is sweet to every boy 
When the sun comes pouring down 
On the field and wood and lawn, 
When the May has turned to June, 
Fruit and plant and bird a-swoon 
With the ecstasy and bliss 
Of Her ardent lover-kiss. 





Summer here and with it come 
Freedom from the martyrdom 
Of the schoolroom and the shoe 
And the pleasure of the true- 
Blue, outdoor and nature-lore 
Student as he lades his store — 
First hand knowledge all agree, — 
Nature fakir, — no, not he! 



20 



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Summer here and fishing time, 
Pole on shoulder, heart a-chime 
With the merry nature-moods 
Of the birded, squirreled woods, — 
Minnows schooling in the brook, 
Nibbling bait from oif the hook, — 
Drowsing, lazing, basking on 
Till the afternoon is gone. 

Summer here and Juniper 
Tempting starving forager 
With its sun-kissed, cherry-red, 
Heaven-lent apples overhead — 
Fruit the gods were wont to brew 
Nectar from, — ambrosia, too. 
Was concocted from this same 
Little luscious orb of flame. 



21 



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Summer here and singing bird, 
Crowing cock and lowing herd 
Swell the welkin with a long 
Joyous, early matin-song; 
Buzzing bee and skying lark 
Mingle with the collie's bark 
As the glorious morning cheer 
All bespeak the summer here. 

Summer here and thunder storm. 
Cloud and darkness and the warm 
Pelting, whirling, swirling drops 
Bringing verdure, bloom and crops, 
Followed by the pools and flood 
And bare foot-prints in the mud, — 
Shining, grimy legs and feet 
Make a joyance most complete. 




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Summer here, ah, what would be 
Summer without flower and tree, 
Budding bush and blushing plant, 
Humming bird with wings a-chant. 
Rose and thorn and wheat and tare. 
Storm and sunshine, pleasure, care. 
Dews and droughts, scorch-heat and rain, 
Gladness mixed with chastening painl 

Summer here, O, glory bel 
Life and health and jollity, 
Rhapsody of mingled bliss, 
Nature ravishing with kiss 
All the senses, till a boy 
Lives a-glut with perfect joyl 
O, if might be all the year. 
Summer here, yes, summer here! 




23 



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Little cherub on the knee, 

In the lap, now on the floor, — 
Hither, thither, full of glee. 

Gurgling, laughing, bubbling o'er, 
Jumping, springing, lilting on, 

Crooning, drooning, sprightly elf, 
Winsome as a graceful swan. 

Beauteous image of love's self. 

Golden sunbeam of my heart 

Radiant idol of a mother. 
Never lived an one so smart, 

Never more will live another. 
Beauty, pleasance, radiance. 

Rainbow-tinted, glorious joy, 
Acme of all elegance, 

Thou pure gold, the rest alloy! 




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I LOVE YOU. 

I love you, I love you, I love you! 
So singeth the bird in the bower. 
I love you, I love you, I love you! 
So buzzeth the bee in the flower. 

As singeth the bird and as buzzeth the bee, 
So pulsates my heart in its rhythmical 

glee. 
And carols my soul in a grand balladry: 
"I love you, I love you, I love you!" 



25 



AZMARINE. 




"Azmarine!" Her beaming eyes, 

Half-inviting lips, 
As a vision 'fore me rise 

In my dreamland-trips, 
Beckon me to fairy dells, 
Woodland scenes and mystic spells 

To the heart of Nature's moods 
Where her spirit dwells. 

"Azmarine!" Enchantress, she 
Leads me through the glens, 

Coaxing and beguiling me 

With some power not human's, 

Leads me on and ever on, 

Skipping, tripping, dancing fawn, 
When I beg the boon I ask, 

Look, and she is gone. 



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"Azmarine!" Fair nature-child, 

Will you never love? 
Will you ever rove a-wild 

Nature's fairy grove? 
Listen to a story sweet 
As the rosebud at your feet 

Fragrant as a lily, white. 
Make my life replete. 







"Azmarine! My heart's desire!'* 

Still she trips away — 
Ever grows ambition higher 

Through life's working day; 
Ne'er attained, heart's fondest hope; 
Gained one landmark, still we grope 

Infinitely finding new 
Barriers to cope. 




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LITTLE SWEETHEART BESS, 




Sweet as any lily blown 
In the month of May, 
Airy as a fairy grown 

'Mong the roses, gay. 
Skipping, tripping merrily. 
Heart a-tune with melody, 
She has meshed me with a tress. 
My little sweetheart Bess. 

Ever sprightly, full of glee; 

Though sometimes she's sad. 
She has only smiles for me, 

Kisses rainbow-clad; 
Guilelessly, though but eleven 
Leads she ever nearer Heaven 
With her proffered fond caress, 
My siren, sweetheart Bess. 



29 



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AT DUSK. 




Gently fall the evening dews, 
Gently fade the rainbow hues 
Of the cirrus floating high 
In the occidental sky. 

Whip-poor-will down in the glen 
Warbles roundelays and then 
Silences his notes to list 
To the mock-bird pianist. 

On the bank of moss-bound lake 
Croaks the bull-frog well-awake; 
Katydid responds with shrills 
To the cricket's chirrs and trills. 

Peeping from the hollow tree 
"Hoos" the owl agnostically, 
While his tiny kinsmen, wise 
Screech assent with blinking eyes. 



80 



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Lowing of belated herd, 
Homing gently o'er the sward, 
Mingles with the farm-boy's call 
And the calves' entreating bawl. 

Listen to the milk-maid's song 
As she wends the cows, among, 
Turning this calf to its mother. 
Failing this cow, that, another. 

Then when all the chores are done, 
Labors o'er till rising sun, 
Vespers sung and all retired. 
Sleeps the soul, Nature-inspired! 



31 



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Quiet she lay in peaceful rest 
After a night of restlessness, 
Slumbering so sweet that wakeful eyes 
Felt their desponding hopes arise; 
Morning would bring a new-born strength 
After the weary hours at length, 
With the assurance that Love's strong power 
Guided her safe through danger's hour. 

Then at the faintest grey of dawn, 
Pallid cheeked and fever gone, 
She oped her eyes and sweetly smiled 
Assurances that fear beguiled. 
Then gently beckoning to her side 
The silent watchers, tearful-eyed, 
She lisped with slowly bating breath 
The summons of the angel Death. 




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"Loved ones, do not so tearful be! 
Weep for yourselves but not for me. 
I go to taste the sweet unknown 
And serve Omniscience on His throne, 
While you are left to bear the strife 
And constant sorrows of this life. 
'Tis only I who should shed tears 
For you, yet periled many years. 



"Life once was bright and gay to me, 
Alluring as the summer sea, 
And I was prone to think its bliss 
Was consummated happiness. 
Now I behold its joys a dream, 
Scarcely an earnest of the gleam 
Of the iridescent worlds that lie 
In spirit lands of earth and sky. 



88 




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"Weep not for me! A halo bright 
Dazzles my inmost soul with light; 
Splendors unspeakable and joy 
Known not to earth's blighting alloy 
Await me. So a long good-bye, 
Till you are called to serve On-High." 
And as she sank to silent rest 
The watchers knew that all was best. 



4^?!??5?^ 




A SONG.— TO-DAY. 

Drink deep the wines that grace the festal 

board, 
Think not of battles won with trusty sword, 
Quaflf off the brimming chalice to To-day. 

Sing loud the lusty songs of present cheer, 
Nor bend the ears to catch a distant fear, 
Send Care a-gallop on her wretched way. 

Shout long the praises of the newly crowned, 

Let Sorrow, Fear and Hope, alike, be drowned. 

Each vassal bend a knee, live, to To-day. 





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ONLY AN ANTIQUATED BEAU. 

The hallowed time of life is mine, 
The time when shadows flitting rise 

And swell the mind with images 

Of sweeping storms and gleaming skies. 

And, from the days of long ago, 
Rises a halo of sun-kissed dreams. 
Lighting the eyes, with mellow beams, 

Of — only an antiquated beau. 



I kiss again the lips of bliss,— 

A blooming lass, scarce in her teens, — 
And fondle sagely my first sweetheart, — 

With mien more stately than a queen^s. 
But, ah! that dream was broken-fair, — 

Its goddess lies with folded arms. 

Wooed by a love with silent charms. 
She sought a home I might not share. 



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Sadly I turn with life, less hope. — 

Another maid I seem to see — 
Eyes of azure, and cheek more fair. 

Her I woo on bended knee. 
But Fate was over-kind to her. 

Or generous over-kind to me. — 

A grandmother sits beneath yon tree 
And 'bout her, children croon and purr. 

A faded gown and mobile lips, 

A bosom racked with anxious thought, 

A silent grace, a gentle tread, 

A meekness born of life, care-fraught. 

And yet it vanishes from view. 
This vision of a cherished hope, 
And in the dark I vainly grope 

To find heart's phantomed dream come true. 



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Still other hopes appear anon. — 

Sweet faces born of morn's fair light, 

The richly jeweled innocents, — 

But all succumb Fate's bitter blight. 

Yet, in my bachelor-chair of woe, 
I muse, at ease, resigned, that Time 
Has dealt her cards, declared that Vm 

Only an antiquated beau. 



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THE STORM PAST. 

The storm is past, and with it went 

The blinding sheets of rain, 
The deaf'ning din of thunder clap, 

The forked light'ning's train. 
The tempest's blast of wind and hail, 

The rush and roar withal; 
And hazy, lazy basks the earth, 

Wrapped in her shimmering shawl. 



Wild was the strife that shook my soul, 

Blast upon gust were blown. 
Fierce the conflict 'twixt doubt and right, 

With debris the deck was strewn; 
But now it lies a summer psalm, 

Tranquil with crown of laurel and palm. 



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ON THE LITTLE BLUE. 

Rowing, rowing, idly rowing 

Up the Little Blue, 
Sighing, cooing, billet-douxing, 

Mooning but for you. 

Floating, floating, slowly floating 
With the current smooth, 

Down the Little Blue a-boating, 
Lost in love, forsooth ! 

Wooing, rowing, floating, wooing, 
Plighting, pledging you; 

For your troth unpromised suing 
On the Little Blue. 




Rowing, floating, rocking, swaying 
Down Life's Little Blue 

Seeking, losing, finding, staying 
Only, love, with you. 



40 



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THE DREAM OF AGE. 



A golden mist of sunbeams from the incense- 
laden breeze 

Wells smokeless from man's dream-pipe, as he 
basks in age's ease. 

The future lies a nebulous aroma leaward 
blown ; 

The past a hazy vista, thorn and roses inter- 
strewn. 

But Memory dismantles ev'ry vestige of the 

sad, 
And builds a gilded castle for the one wrought 

iron-clad. 
Apartments molded to the whims Caprice 

suggests are fair 
With priceless images to deck the walls, once 

frescoed-bare. 




The floor adorns with rug and fur and easeled 

panel rare 
And mantlepieces amber-brown, dais and 

furniture 
Of jeweled worth too fabulous for Fancy e'en 

to prize 
As gloating o'er with sated sense, she cloys her 

lavish eyes. 



About the castle to the stars she rears an ivied 

wall 
Debarring storm and cloud and thorn and 

winter's chilling thrall; 
And in the close of verdant-fair, a shimmering 

garden sheen, 
With nectar spring, and fragrant bloom, and 

bird and arbor-green. 



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Profane with prodigality, yet loth to lavish less 
She squanders ruthlessly again far more of 

pricelessness. 
Within this Paradise to rule with magic 

sceptered glove, 
She places aye a splend'rous queen, and bids 

Man call her Love. 



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43 



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A FLOWER. 

Deep in the grass a little flower 
Snuggled its innocent perfume 

From ardent gaze, of sun and shower, 
Some tiny lorn-love to illume. 

But as I trod, a reckless heel 

Lowered the beauty. Heaven-caressed 
Oh, that the ruthless one might feel, 
Alone, the ill of life earth pressed. 





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A MAIDEN'S VOW. 

It is spoken. I have promised. And the stars 

that shine above 
And moon shall lose their lustre ere I fail that 

vow of love. 
The words are writ indelible on my heart with 

adamant 
Till time can ne'er efface them, nor change can 

them supplant. 

If be the throb of years continue to Eternity 
Ere Fate shall seal that compact with the 

promises to be, 
My faith shall be unshaken and my promise to 

be true 
Shall be a virgin covenant of loyalty to you. 



46 






What though the seas divide us with their 

azure-green expanse 
Or warring races separate us with their hostile 

glance; 
What though the battling elements be raging 

aye between, 
Or kinsmen's blood be carnage-gore upon a 

common green. 



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Forsooth, though wracked with torture's pangs 

or humbled to the dust, 
With bating breath and faltering hope, I'll 

still have faith to trust. 
It is spoken. I have promised. And the stars 

that shine above 
And moon shall lose their lustre ere I fail that 

vow of love. 




47 



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Shall I sit in the shade, while others have light, 
Sing the song of the weary, while others delight; 
Shall I serve in the room of affliction and woe 
While the world dances gayly as past me they 

go; ^ 

Shall I smile the faint heart into rallying hope, 
Weep with those who must weep in life's lowly 

station. 
Teach the humble the way with life's problems 

to cope; — 
If I do it submissive, 'tis true resignation. 




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Do I sit meekly down to weep and to mourn, 
Or take up the burden too easily borne; 
Do I look on a wrong that I might set a-right; 
Or take the rough blows meant another in a 

fight; 
Do I grieve for the youthful one startmg out 

wrong, 
Or behold an error in brother or nation, 
E'en submissively hear a false note in a song. 
Which I might prevent,— this is false resigna- 
tion. 




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AN ARTIFICIAL ROSE. 

It is only an artificial rose, 

Witherless, fadeless, unreal, 
Wanting the fragrance and freshness, forsooth, 

Genuine roses reveal. 
It is only the artistic handwork of man, 

Imitation of nature and life. 
But yet in this art, is concealed for a heart, 

The mem'ry of love and of strife. 



rt^^ On the eve of a parting it fell from her hand, — 
A parting since proven for aye, — 
A lifeless, lone monument now does it stand 

To one once so happy and gay. 
And I treasure this valueless rose more than 
wealth, 
Or any fair blossom that blows. 
For all, now revealed of her, is concealed, 
For me in this artificial rose. 




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She left us weeping bitter tears, 
Yes, woeful tears, e'en soulful tears, 
At the untimely call which sears 
All hope for future useful years. 

Nor could her smiling lips erase 
The awful trace, resentful trace, 
Of bitterness, against His grace. 
We felt, from off a single face. 

But now back through the years, we see 
Eternity, eternity 
Commence with us on bended knee 
At Mary's side in heavenly plea. 



61 




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"Mary!'* That sound still like a knell, 
A funeral knell, celestial knell, 
Is leading us, the throng, to swell, 
That holy throng, where angels dwell. 




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MY MOON-GODDESS. 

Immersed in the billowy, silvery rays 

Of the fulling moon as they spray down 
between 
The nude, writhing limbs of the forest that 
sways 

In the hiemal breezes and swell and careen, 
My moon-goddess basks. Her ringlets of pearl 

Reflect the transparent slivers and gleams 
That lave her soft throat and curl and swirl 

In eddies and whirlpools of deluging beams. 



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ill! 





JOSEPHA. 

Josepha, little sweetheart, 

With your locks of sunset sheen 
And dancing eyes of autumn's 

Radiant, nut-brown gleam, I ween. 
No ardent lover ever found 

Or poet dared to sing 
Such glowing image, fervor-crowned, 
And set his soul a-wing 
To such sweet verve 

And ecstasy 
As constant strove 
From you to me. 



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Josepha, glowing remnant 

Of the ember brought from Heaven, 
Your countenance a dazzling coal, 

Your soul with flame, absolved and shriven, 
With such a goddess to adore 

And render sacrifice 
I turn a Pagan worshiper; 
Incense of myrrhs and spice, 
I tender you, 

In boundless store. 
Growing more poor. 
Yet having more. 



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AT REST. 

Sweet voices chant the song of blissful peace 

And snowy lilies lie above in scattered grace, 
A silent benediction of release, 

Intoned in thought, lends to the peaceful 
calmness of the place 
Where she lies hidden on the breast 
Of Him who lured her to the rest 
Of His soft beaming face. 





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A FANCY. 

Quiet, demure, withal serene, 
Modest, retiring, placid, calm, 
Blissful and silent as a psalm, 

Constant as any goddess-queen 1 

Happy, contented, coy and grave 

E'en to the smile that curves the lips, 
Gracing their roseate blooms with sips 

Of nectar, kept for their veriest slave. 

Gentle and sweet as the fragrant breeze 
That rocks the verdure of the spring 
And precious nestlings, fro and swing. 

Up 'mong the leafy boughs and trees. 



Ah, what a crown of gracious gifts 
Laurels the brow, I dare not love! 
E'en as I fancy, far above, 

Vanishes she among cirrus-rifts. 



67 



# 



THE BROKEN RANKS. 



Oh, my little boy, Ronald, is joyous 

And he hums him a blithe little lay 
As away he trips light with the children 

To school and before school to play; 
But when teacher has given the signal 

And the pupils form line books to tend. 
Instinctive a hush swells the silence, 

At the thought of my little boy's friend. 

Oh, the ranks of the marchers are broken 

And my little boy's arms slowly fall, 
As he reaches his hands for the shoulders 

Where now are no shoulders at all. 
And the little bright face of my Ronald, 

That was wont the sun's beaming to blend 
And reflect, has turned pale and has saddened^ 

At the thought of his little boy friend. 



68 



a^M^. 



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Oh the little torn books are no longer 

In use and the red bounden slate 
With initials, crude carved in the frame-work, 

The sponge and the pencil that late 
Has been chewed and been hacked with a pen 
knife, — 

And the seat, the whole vacant end 
Sets staring, a blatant remembrance 

Of thoughts of my little boy's friend. 



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And ever the ranks are a-thinning 

And early life's lessons begin 
And the little forms quake with a tremor 

As Fate sits and leers with a grin. 
In vain do I wish I might gather 

My little boy to me and send 
Care a-gallop forever and save him 

Thoughts such as of his little boy friend! 



--x^ 



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A LAY OF HOME. 

O tune me a lay of a lowly roofed thatch, 

A lay close of kin to the loam; 
O tune it to chord with a feeling I catch 

When I think of a once humble home. 

O sing the words soft, to a minor pitched key, 
With a pathos so gentle, sublime; 

Let the cadences glide, not from monotone 
free, 
And careless of meter and rhyme. 



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O sing it, or drone it, or whisper it low, 
But a-tune to the soul of the past, 

A-raptured by feelings that no one may know, 
Unenthralled by memories that last. 



O tune it and wing it and set it a-float 
In the tireless arms of the breeze 

To lull me to sleep with its sweet cadenced note 
'Mong the leaves of the e'er verdant trees. 



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SOUL-MATED. 

Between the darkness and the day, 
Between the sunbeams and the gray- 
Blue nuptial gleaming of the moon, 
She silent waits me in a swoon 
Of virgin woman-loveliness. 
Verdant the ardor of those eyes 
That stole the deep Venetian skies; 
The ripe-red lips await the bliss 
Of being robbed of soul-mate kiss; 
The heaving, rounded, pearly breast 
Courts ravishment of manly chest; 
And blushing heart with rhythmic blood 
Deluges with its crimson flood 
A soul of cloying heavenliness. 




r\A^ 




Hid in a niche in Mem'ry's wall 
Safe from the mongers, venders, all, 

Secreted for recall in rarest moon, 
The image of a pretty maid 
Is wrapped in tissue, ne'er to fade, — 

O mem'ry of my little Maid of June! 



The seasons come, the seasons wane, • 

With gale and blast, with song-bird's strain, 

With birth and growth and blossom, fade and 
swoon, 
And in the midst, enchantress, dear, 
Rocked on the bosom of the year. 

Laughs aye my sunny-mooded Maid of June. 

And now her image, from the wall. 
Returns again at Mem'ry's call. 

And thrills me with her mellow croon and 
tune; 
And love, again awakened, sighs. 
And beams of youth fill dew-dimmed eyes, 

Enraptured by my little Maid of June! 

62 



-L^'^i 



IF I COULD SIT BY YOU. 

If I could sit by you, my love, 

If I could sit by you, 
And hear your tender words, sweet love, 

In accents old, yet new. 
If I could sit by you and hear, 

Through all eternity, 
Your silver sigh, 'T love you, dear," 

'T would be too short for me. 



63 



/•^^^ Vi>^ 




THE REAPERS. 



Early they rise, at break of dawn, 
Ere the splendrous dews have gone, 
And hasten forth to laden field 
To garner in the golden yield. 

Before old Sol has shown his face, — 
While yet the eastern sombre grace 
Of grey awaits the radiant ray 
Of blushing aureoled day. 
The reapers start their glorious work 
Nor dare to drone or laze or shirk 
During the long and scorching hours- 
Lest Nature intercept with showers. 



64 



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Who gives a care for parching heat 
And ceaseless moil for labored feet? 
The harvest field is laden fair 
With its rich yield of grain so rare! 
It is all waving in the breeze, 
Rousing and calling from their ease 
Into the joyous harvesting, 
Into the toil of garnering. 
Master and servant, maid and swain, 
Lout and savant. None refrain 
From the exquisite joy and rare 
Of gathering in his precious share. 



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E'en till the sun has sunk to rest 
And the gold glory of the west 
Has faded, e'en till dusk has set 
Her seal on day, the reapers yet 
Proceed to garner in the sheaves, 
The heavy-laden golden sheaves. 
Fruits of the season's joyous toil. 
Rarest of vintage of the soil. 

Here's to the reapers, jewel crowned, 
Those whose pleasure is aye found 
In the enravishing delight 
Of garnering from dawn till night! 







WHICH, LOVE? 

'Neath the moon's pale beams we smile, 

I at you and you at me, 
Rapidly the hours beguile. 

Stealing kisses granted free. 
Yet how soon we two must part. 
One to wear a bruised heart. 

'Tis the way of love and life; 

One is strong, the other weak; 
One is conqueror in the strife. 

The vanquished flounders at his feet. 
Which of us shall stand, God knows! 
Heaven pity the other's throes! 



67 



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THE FRONTIER GRAVE. 

A fragile shallow on a gentle hill 

Where birds are wont to hide their precious 

nest, 
An ancient rosebush and a rippling rill, 
Are Nature's landmarks for her unknown guest. 

No potted flowers deck that ancient grave, 
No marble foot or headboard gives the name. 
And yet, mayhap, some warrior, generous 

brave. 
Some noble prince, lies there, unknown to fame. 

Or who knows but some mother terror struck, 
Defending with her life her helpless child; 
Some maid, emboldened by a lover's pluck, 
Risked all, lost all, then placid lay and smiled. 




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Some abnegating Jesuit; some brave, 

Who fought to save his papoose, home, from 

foes; 
Some luckless hunter, or some pioneer slave; 
Defenseless youth, or harmless babe, who 

knows ? 




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THE BOOKS WE READ. 




Where are the books we used to read, 

Whiling away the summer's day, 
Lolling in house or wooded shade, 

Oft till the eventide grew gray? 
Where are those books, whose magic spell 

Held us in rapture hours together, 
Making the earth a paradise. 

Whether in shine or stormy weather? 

Where are they, pray? Read them again. 

Bring back to mem'ry those flitting joys. 
Read me a passage of love without strife, 

Life without sorrow's cursed alloys. 
Read me, and let my head rest, love, 

Now, as of yore, without demur. 
There on your knee, and tell me, love, 

Why are we not, dear, as we were! 



70 




THE YOUNG IMITATOR. 

Here my little wee lad, he comes wooing, comes 

cooing, 
And my sweet little lad he comes cooing, comes 
suing. 

Oh, he comes with a smiling, 

He comes care beguiling, 

And he comes with a cry 

Of the joy that his eye 
Is a visioning aye, is a visioning ever. 
Oh, my little lad ever is clever, so clever ! 

Here my dimpling dandy comes handy, comes 

handy. 
Oh, my Jolly -Come -Jupiter dandy wants 
candy. 

Oh he comes with a smiling. 

Cajoling, beguiling. 

And he comes with a tooth 

That is hollow, forsooth. 
For a chocolate drop, or a mint or a sucker. 
Oh my lad is a mucker, deceiver and mucker. 



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Oh my amateur mendicant's other, dear other, 
Parental progenitor — how she does smother, — 

Oh, she comes with a smiling. 

Comes kissing, beguiling. 

Comes smirking, and working 

Her consort, and perking. — 
Oh, a chip from the old block, his love of a 

mother. 
With his smirking and pother, his kisses, his 
smother! 





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72 







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MEDIAEVAL SERENADE. 

Silvery noted, 'neath shadowy trees, 
Waning and waxing with each gentle breeze, 
Soundeth my cavalier's viol and bow 
'Companied by song from a soul all aglow. 
Pleading, besieging the battlements strong. 

Striving to enter my heart's fast close, 
Bear it away as a captive, in thong 

For hostage of peace to his schloss. 

Ah, did he know that the battlements strong, 
Were and had been to the earth battered long! 
Did he but guess that the gates were ajar. 
Flung by myself as I saw him afar! 
Did he suspect what all others could see, 

Bound is my heart to his own with thongs, 
Hostage of peace to its captor, free 

Granted to him it belongs! 



73 



THE STOLEN KISS. 

What matter though I stole from off your lips 

A moment's ecstasy? You could not miss 
So small a trifle. The celestial sips 

From goddess' lips would fail beside the kiss 
I stole from you. And you are no less rich 

For that I am enrichened by the bliss 
Of one short moment's joy in memory's 
niche — 

To you, a paltry, poor, unanswered kiss. 



What matter though I stole another's boon, 

Is he the poorer for my felon act? 
Will he a mendicant become more soon 

That I a guilty moment your lips sacked? 
Could he begrudge the unresponsive joy 

I dared to filch for self, from you ? In fact. 
When unreserved you, his senses, cloy 

With ecstasy, will he know want or lack? 



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DRIFTING. 

Softly the zephyrs are silently blowing, 
Gently the current is ceaselessly flowing, 
Drifting, drifting, carelessly, 
Toward the fathomless, boundless sea, 
Out to an unknown eternity. 

As with my skiff", so my life is afloat. 
Gliding as light as the singing bird's note, 
Heedless my thoughts of the whirlpools below, 
Forgetful of strifes of the sad "long ago," 
Drifting, drifting, carelessly. 
Toward the fathomless, boundless sea, 
Out to an unknown eternity. 



76 







WAITING. 

She sits and toys with furs and feather; 

A look expectant in her eye, 
She wonders at window casement whether 

A tear or smile will grace the sky. 

Reseated by the soothing fire, 

She looks at clock and door and clock; 
Then with a heart-throb waxing higher. 

She lists for wonted, welcome knock. 

Impatiently she goes to mirror, 
A gentle touch to tuft and brow, 

She opes the door. The sky is clearer. 
The pout on lip begins to grow. 

Half-standing seated on a chair-arm 

She pauses for familiar tread; 
Despaired, recHnes on couch, a wan charm 

Paling the cheek that hope had fled. 






DESERTED. 




Though dark Is night, still darker is the day 

That shrouds my vision's hope. For he is 
gone. 
And with him vanished all my hope to sway 

His dallying purpose. Ere the morrow's 
dawn 
Another will be planted in my place, 

Be circled by the arms that circled me. 
Be fondled and caressed with gallant grace, 

As I was wont of yore and yet would be. 

Her hands can never hope to soothe his brow, 

Her eyes to lure the sparkle to his own, 
Lips kiss away the care, nor tongue avow 

The oaths of love that should be mine alone. 
For other loves are weak compared with mine 

Whose strength would lead me smiling to 
the stake 
Or all life's fondest hopes tread down, resign 

To ward one pain from him, one joy to make. 



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And yet he left me comfortless to pine 

The painless pangs of anguish, silent-fraught, 
Left me to face, heart-broke, the world's 
malign 

I gladly dared for him, for him for — 
naught 1 — 
No, no! It cannot be! He cared no whit 

For me, to leave me, and so cruelly! 
ril blot him from my life, our past unknit. — 

But, no! — I cannot blot out Memory. 



80 



!) 




LOVE'S VICTORY. 

An angel sang a song of Death 
And lulled me in his arms, 

But Love came as a morning breath 
And lured me with her charms, 

Bidding Death bide another day 

To chant his dirge, in winter, gray. 

Bound by the cords of Love to life, 

I raised a drooping lid, 
And added strength for battle's strife, 

To find Death's conqueror fled. 
E'en as the angel turned from me, 
He bore away Life's victory. 



81 



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Her singing voice — her singing voice 
Sounds like the angels that rejoice 
And lisp their happiness in word 
Of cadenced love or song of bird. 

Her singing voice is as the breeze 
That rustles 'mong the swaying trees 
And croons its love song in the bowers 
Or stoops and kisses leaves and flowers. 

Her singing voice is like the lyre 
With accent softer, sweeter, higher, 
Then dying to a silent tone 
Observant to Love's ear alone. 






Ah soft, mellifluent and sweet 
As coos the baby at your feet; 
As rich as carol of the bird 
Or denizen of field or wood ! 




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The sprites and elves that dance and sing 
Through verdant dell, 'bout shaded spring, 
Are shorn their powers to delight 
Beside the charms she can incite. 

Behold yon seraph's gracious note 
That trills from out her dainty throat, 
Yet pales to insignificance 
Beside her voiced extravagance. 

The music of her singing voice ^ 
Sounds like the angels that rejoice 
And from the joyance of its tone 
Steal, to re-echo as their own. 

Oh rich, rare voice— so radiant rare, 
That pulsates glory through the air 
Leaving no earthly, heavenly choice— 
Her singing voice— her singing voice 1 




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MAPLE STIRRING TIME. 

Did you ever sit by the old camp fire 
In the woods in the Ides of March, 
And the night wind tuning the tree-top lyre, — 
And your shins you scorch and parch. 
While your back is freezing 
And it keeps you sneezing,^— 
And the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets! 

Did you ever gather in springtime weather 

From the orchard of maple trees 
When the equinoctial turns clouds of feather 
To crystalline pendant frieze 
On the limbs and branches — 
Ah, the sight entrances! — 
While the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets! 




84 






You remember tapping the trees for sapping 

And driving the hedge-alder "spiles," 
While the sap-sucker kept up his tap, tap, 
tapping; 
The butter-nut troughs from their piles, 
You scattered for catching, 
The trees' life-blood, snatching — 
While the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets I 

Then gathering and fetching, — a perfect etching 

Is the vision of tree-runner sledge 
And the frisking team with their taut muscles 
stretching 
As they prance through the dale, o'er the 
ledge. 
The froze earth bare skimming — 
With fire their blood brimming — 
While the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets. 





And then comes the toiling — the stirring and 
boiling, 
The watching and tasting the while, 
The blubbering, seething, the coursing and 
coiling. 
The thickening, dark'ning in style, — 
The fire burns lower 
And slower and slower — 
Yet the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets! 

At last comes the jolly good time, the finale, 

The stir-off" with neighbors to aid. 
The pulling of taffy, the fun, frolic, folly, 
Making care, dull fatigue quick to fade, 
The heart-throb beat stronger. 
But longer, no longer 
Do the kettles boil and sob and spoil 
With their burden of maple sweets. 




,J^ 





For there she stands beaming, the girl of my 
dreaming, 
My idol of gossamer dreams, 
The vision of rapture that sets my pulse 
teeming, 
Transfixes my heart with the gleams 
From her eyes rich and sparkling. 
Her purpose, deep darkling. 
Makes my life blood boil and sob and spoil 
With its burden of soul-kissed sweets. 





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SHE SOUGHT HER LORD. 

Her Lord she sought from out the mottled 

throng 
And, daring scarce to seek his gaze, reached 

forth 
And humbly touched his flowing robe, 

conscious 
In it was clothed her perfect counterpart. 



A saintly creature stole behind and gazed 
A-raptured at the man whose lordly soul 
Could make her perfect. Straight he turned 

around 
And saw and knew. For virtue was gone out. 





A REMINISCENCE. 

The scented breath of dewdrops wafted on the 
silken breeze 

And the carol of the song-birds in the honey- 
laden trees, 

Lead itinerant the fancy to the mellow days 
a-gone, 

When lover eyes were only for the form of 
angel-fawn. 



Ethereal the image welling from the hazy past, 
Cloying memory with sadness, mellifluent 

o'er-cast. 
An aromatic fragrance floats among the 

vernal dreams 
And adds to fact a fancy, rippling generous 

with heart-beams. 




// 




An airy, fairy lady, leaning toward the early 

teen, 
Lends luster to the listless ones, with dancing 

eyes of sheen; 
And a soul with all of Heaven painted in its 

countenance 
Repletes the heart of age again with infant 

innocence. 

Yet, 'mong the secret images that mystic 
memory holds, 

Is one so sacred-sad the tongue, its sweetness, 
ne'er unfolds. 

But the hallowed dews of eyelid, that a-down 
the furrows lave, 

Are truant testament to thoughts of an un- 
timely grave. 




'3.. 



THE HEAVEN GUILD. 

Oh, my little maid dimples and billows, 

My little maid gurgles and coos, 
She laughs in the face of all strangers, 

And dangers she fearlessly woos. 
And ruthless my little wee girlie 

Rules over my heart and another. 
But she saves all her free-given kisses 

To press the soft lips of her brother. 

Ah, vainly I beg upon leaving. 

As vainly when I have returned, 
For a sweet little hug and the pressure 

Those lips have but recently learned. 
But I try and I try it but vainly, 

And almost as vainly her mother. 
For the sweet, rippling cherub instinctive 

Saves her kisses to give her wee brother. 



iM(M^. 



91 



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Each day as from play, kindergarten 

He homes, her rose lips she upturns 
And brother may never neglect her 

Unspoken appeal as she yearns 
For the token of love and remembrance 

Not asked from nor granted her father — 
Reserved for the lips of the knowing. 

Reserved for her darling, wee brother. 

Can it be that the hearts of the grown-ups 

Lack the rhythm to tune with the child? 
Can it be that the Heaven forsaken 

But recently formeth a guild 
Of other new spirits related ? 

That even the father, the mother 
With their loves and desires are less kin 

Than the Heaven-kissed soul of the brother? 



92 





Listless the eye, and idle tongued, 
Silent the hands that ever moved, 

Placid the countenance, now stilled 
The palpitating heart that loved. 

Dead, do you say? It cannot be 
She who was e'er the morning ray, 

Dissipating my gloom-set night. 
Now is a pulseless, mould'ring clay! 

Dead ? Then lift her up carefully. 

Bear her gently o'er the sod. 
Lower her slowly, silently 

Down 'neath the heartless, cruel clod. 

Dead! — To meet in eternity, — 

Soul's consolation makes me wild! — 

Yes! — ^Then a final, long embrace! 
And place in my arms my darling child! 




(f>r>^. 



--., \ 





WHEN EVEN COMES. 



When even comes I sit and sigh 
; And dream of days of long ago, 

l!||' Of youth and life and early love, 

111; And hopes and fears and faith and vow. 

!J!h| I sit and sigh and dream 

Until again things seem 
As real as, 

In days agone, 
The summer was; 

When night and dawn 
Were laden with the zephrs sweet, 

And freshness of the morning dews. 
That wrapt the fields of golding wheat 
Ere yet the moon had crept from view. 



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When even comes and walnut logs, 

Heaped in the fireplace, 
Are bombarding the patient dogs 

That occupy the space 
About the hearth, and shadows flit 
And, flickering, arise then sit 
In darkling corners mid the gloom, 
The joys of youth, the life and bloom, 
The radiance 

And happiness 
Of childish love 
And fond caress, 
Again are mirrored in the mind — 
Are images ego doth find 
More firmly grounded than the strife 
And victories of later life. 



95 



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When even comes and fireside glow 
And fanning embers wane and grow 
And on the wall 
The shadows fall 
And dimmer 

Grows within 
The glimmer, — 
And the thin 
Phantom images that crawl and creep, 
Twist and turn and writhe, a jumbled heap, 
Are a reminder of the days gone by 

When life was new and love was young, 
The future loomed a mountain hard and high. 
Impassioned songs of life were yet unsung. 
But youth is youth and love is love and life 
Is joy, for all the labor, pain and strife, 
That waits the years 
With bitter tears, — 
When even comes — 
When even comes. 




THE AGED VETERAN. 

Aged and weary, tottering, lame, 

Crippled and bent with the weight of years 
And a nation's burden of honor and fame 

The old man falters above the biers 
Of comrades passed to their last reward 
For bravery with bullet and sword. 

Lonely he looks with his scarry face 

Furrowed and blanched with the frosts of age, 
Weighted with solitude and a trace 

Of the fear of death, age can't assuage- 
Though oft he had mired in carnage and gore, 
And been lost in the tumult and battle and 
roar. 



•7 




Only a few more days till he — 

Only a few more bugle calls 
Till he shall answer the signal and be 

Summoned to meet in the festal halls 
And dine and sup in jubilee 
At the eternal banquet of victory. 

Ah! aged veteran, hoary browed, 
Fretted with wars of the elements, 

Soon will you meet the trooper-crowd 
Soon will you bivouac within the tents 

Walled and canopied overhead 

With stars, and stars for your pillow and bed. 

Then courage, comfort, good fellowship 

Be to your last reclining days! 
List while the chalice we raise to the lip 

And quaff to the memory of battle-frays! 
Raise to the heavens your brow, storm- 
browned, — 
Ah! aged veteran, victory-crowned! 





COMMON FOLKS. 

The world is filled with people, great 'nd small, 
With good, bad 'nd indlffer'nt ones. 'Nd all 
Have some good traits 'bout 'em 'nd some bad, 
Are sometimes full of smiles 'nd sometimes sad. 
But fur the best all-round class of the whole 
Blamed lot of God's creation born with soul. 
The one that towers 'bove the rest like oaks 
Is jest yer common folks. 

Them folks that does the workin' fur the 

"class;" 
Them folks that does the thinkin' fur the 

mass; 
That gives their sons 'nd daughters to the 

cause 
Of elevatin' man by deeds 'nd laws; 
Them folks that reads their Bibles ever' day, 
'Nd never goes to bed until they pray; — 
I say, them folks that don't fear heavy yokes 
Is jest yer common folks. 



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The folks on which the gover'ment depends; 
The folks that does the fightin' 'nd that lends 
Their rank 'nd file to fill the offices; 
jj ;> The folks that pays the bills; 'nd them that 

does 
The work that fills the mouths of rich 'nd po'r 
'Nd drives the wolf of famine from the door; 
The hub of ever' wheel, fellers 'nd spokes, 
Is jest yer common folks. 




When God made man, I s'pose he must 

a-knowed 
His business, fur He real wisdom showed 
By makin', of mankind, the biggest part 
'Nd usin' them fur motor-power 'nd heart 
Of all the broad infinity that He 
Inaugerated; then set them to be 
The jedge 'nd justice, which the rest invokes 
Fur aid — yer common folks. 



100 



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God bless yer common folks! 'nd when He calls 
That final roll in them celestial halls, 
'Nd each one moves from out his humble bed, 
Whether 'mong rich or po'r — let it be said, 
When he looks round in search fur whur I lie, 
'Nd asks the question of a stander-by, 
"He lies round som'ers," as He makes His 
strokes, 
"Among yer common folks ^ 




101 




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THE MAN THAT JUST DON'T CARE. 

Some folks have got the notion that they've 

got to be a sight, 
Be somethin' big to look at or to talk about 'nd 

write; 
They want to be the "center of attraction" 'nd 

"the rage," 
To figger much in politics, soci'ty, on the stage; 
They're 'flicted with ambition, fur position, 

gain, 'nd wealth, — 
'Nd sometimes when fame don't come right, 

invite it 'round by stealth, — 
But fur the best, good-naturedest 'nd honestest, 

I swear, 
I'll take the good old fashioned kind, the man 

that just don't care. 



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There's lots of evil in the world, 'nd 'pears like 

some folks think 
That raisin' themselves up a notch, knocks out 

an evil link; 
They seem to have the idee that the higher up 

they climb, 
The better off the world will be, 'nd nearder 

come the time 
The earth will be a Paradise; but one thing I 

have seen. 
That greatness don't make us more good, 

except in outward mien, 
'Nd don't help raise our fellermen, fur as we 

climb in air, 
We add ourselves in burden to the man that 

just don't care. 



lOS 



Ambitious folks are very nice, if all you ask 

is win; 
But if ambition was withdrawed, I say the 

bulk of sin 
Would be reduced to minimum; 'nd folks 

could sleep at night 
After a day of honest toil 'nd not lay 'wake to 

fight 
Their battles over 'nd to gyard the hoards 

they've wrongly won, — 
Yes, sir! We'll have a Paradise whenev'r 

ambition's run 
Its course, 'nd worn the fever out of folks 'nd 

left 'em bare 
Of all this superfluousness — just folks that just 

don't care. 



104 










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